


You?

by TauntedOctopi



Series: You? [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Drunk Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, General Sexual Content, Gratuitous Smut, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Resolved Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Sloppy Makeouts, Smut, Some Plot, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 12:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21356104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TauntedOctopi/pseuds/TauntedOctopi
Summary: Zane saves you from becoming a prisoner of war on Promethea. A night of drinking leads to exactly what you'd expect.First chapter is lewd free.
Relationships: Zane Flynt/Original Female Character, Zane Flynt/You
Series: You? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550503
Comments: 4
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen we're all in agreement that Zane is a dilf. You know that's why you're here. Enjoy this trash with me.

Ever since he hauled you out of war-torn Promethea and onto Sanctuary, there's been an unspoken tension between you and Zane. At first, given the age difference, which wasn't enormous but still considerable enough to be A Thing, you kind of tried to ignore it. You didn't want to be the weird girl chasing after an older guy. Thing was, the tension was very much there even when you ignored it. Even moreso, in fact. The more you tried to ignore it, the harder it became to do that very thing. 

It wasn't long after you'd accepted that maybe you were just into guys pushing fifty, or at least maybe he was an exception to whatever your "type" had been before, that you had ended up getting very, very drunk with the vast majority of the Vault Hunters and the rest of the raiders. Things had gone entirely to shit, and the group had lost someone particularly important to them. The loss of Maya had hit everyone, even those who hadn't known her very long. She had been kind and fierce and brave, and well loved amongst her friends. You were glad you had gotten to know her, even for a short time, and missed her terribly with the others. 

It had started with a few furtive glances across the bar. In your opinion, maybe a mourning booze up wasn't the best time to hook up with the older guy you'd been interested in. Then again, you still weren't used to the social nuances that came with people from Pandora. Promethea was a little less wild, but you found you prefered the ways of your new companions. 

Zane had seen enough death, been to enough funerals, to know that it really didn't matter whether people got together at the aftermath drinking time. Better the living celebrate being alive. What better way to honor the dead? Or some shit. He had never been a people person, really. He still wasn't entirely sure why he had brought you back to Sanctuary. He supposed he had thought the Raiders needed all the help they could get, and you hadn't exactly been in the best situation. He wasn't an asshole- at least, not the kind of asshole who expects to get laid for helping someone out. Still, he's not blind to the very clear tension between the two of you. 

Either way, what started as several furtive glances across the bar soon progressed to you deciding, with a little help from your good friend liquor, to shoot your shot, which meant throwing a very long look at him as you made your way out of the bar. Everyone else was too drunk to notice or care that you were leaving, and you doubted they'd notice him follow, assuming of course that he would. 

He had a pretty damn good idea he knew where this was going, but what was wrong with that? You were both adults, not too drunk to consent to ... Whatever was going to go down. He had no issue or hangups about following you out of the bar, though he did have the decency to make it slightly stealthy. Whatever you did was between the two of you. 

He found you outside, a few feet down the walkway, leaning against one of the support pillars between doors. 

"Get tired of the bullshit?" He gets that, it was getting too loud in there, too rowdy. He knows things are different on Promethea. A little less wild than Pandorans. He's not sure how they do funerals and grief on Promethea, but he's also pretty sure it might be a bit more reserved. 

"Needed some fresh air." You reply, still a little guilty that you're thinking about this sort of thing when you should be entirely thinking about grief. 

"Its all recycled up here," he reminds you, smirking. It's true, of course, given that you're in space. 

"Not used to being on a space station... ship... thing." You admit; you'd never left Promethea. You'd always wanted to, but never had the means to. The vault hunters coming along and bringing you with them was a golden opportunity. 

"Couldn't just leave you down there." The Calypsos had wanted you as a prisoner of war. The vault hunters had freed you. If Zane hadn't suggested you come with them, you'd probably be hiding or running for your life from the so called twin gods. 

"I know, and I appreciate it." Really, you did. You did not particularly want to die being tortured by Tyreen Calypso or her brother. Of course, given Troy's newly stolen powers, it was a possibility that you were all going to die horribly anyway. 

It was that particular thought that made your mind up. Shoot. Your. Shot. 

"Something on your mind?" He's pretty sure that there is, but he also wants you to be the one to initiate this, just in case he's wrong. He doesn't want to come off as some sleazy older guy. 

"Yes, actually," you say, taking a deep breath before you close the short distance between you and kiss him. You're honestly a little surprised at your own daring, but he doesn't seem to mind. If anything he likes your daring. He's plenty used to being the one to initiate things, so it's a nice change. 

He tastes like whiskey and gunpowder, which is kind of weird considering most guns nowadays use plasma cartridges. You suppose it makes sense that he'd carry something more old school. 

It takes a brief moment of almost awkwardness before you get it right; once he realises you're not messing around, not interested in pulling away, he pushes you right back up against the wall, gloved fingers curling into your hair as he kisses you hungrily. How long has it been since he actually last kissed someone? He's not sure, but he's not opposed to the situation, either, especially when your fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck and you pull him closer. 

He doesn't DO closeness, not like this, but there's something almost addictive about keeping you pushed up against the wall, kissing you like his life depends on it. There's a good chance you're all going to die, anyway, so. What's the harm, right? As it is, you're not ready to end this. He's so sturdy against you, the kiss so intoxicating and full of need. 

A small part of your mind reminds you that you're still in a very public place, that this can't go any further here, but part of you wouldn't care if he wanted to go further right here and now. Something in the way he's kissing you is making you stupid, making you want to give him everything and anything he could possibly want. 

"Zane," you manage to get out, breaking away from him reluctantly to speak, "we should- not here." 

He definitely wasn't ready to stop yet, but you're right. The public walkway isn't the best place for this, though he doesn't doubt someone will make use of it later given how intoxicated the others were when you left. 

"Right. I have a room?" He's pretty sure that's an acceptable suggestion, considering you sleep in the commune with the rest of the crew and non vital Raiders members. Privacy for this sort of thing is probably something you'd prefer, though he personally doesn't care. 

You don't trust yourself to speak, so you just nod and follow him wordlessly further down the walkway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be lewds. You were warned.

The hydraulic door has barely closed behind you when he has you pressed up against it, a real urgency in the kiss now. He's never like this, really, almost needy in the way his tongue tastes you, one hand cupping your cheek. Intimacy is one hell of a drug when you spend most of your time without it. He'd never admit that, though, especially to himself. 

Before you can really think about it, you're reaching to pull his jacket off; as soon as he realises what you're doing, he shifts to help, discarding the garment onto the steel floor before returning to kissing you, teeth grazing your lower lip. Your nails dig into his biceps and he groans, biting down on your lip harder. It's nice to know people still seem to think he's good looking, especially people like you. Ego aside he really did think you'd probably think he was too old for you, probably make eyes over the Atlas CEO instead. It's definitely nice to be proven wrong. 

From there, it's a few moments of slight blur, sheer desperation to get rid of as many layers of clothing as possible. Any and all hesitation is gone, this seems the only logical way to have ended up. Somewhere between him removing his shirt and getting your pants off, your fingers trace old bullet scars across his chest, feather light. You've never seen someone like him before, battle scarred and tough. It doesn't scare you. Maybe once, before the war, you might not have looked twice at someone like him. Now? You've never seen anyone so gorgeous. 

Your fingers circle a particularly nasty scar as he kisses your neck, lightly touching the roughened skin. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine; the kiss turns to a bite, a sudden need to mark you. It's primal and maybe he's too old for this shit, but the moan that tears from your throat is worth it all. 

There's going to be a pretty mark where your throat meets your collarbone, a slight bruise already forming. No longer caring about taking time, Zane makes short work of getting rid of his own pants, leading you backward over to the bed built into the wall. 

"Lie back." There's a rough edge to his voice as he instructs you; there's an uncomfortable ache forming in his groin, but he's determined to take at least a little time. 

You're just a little anxious about doing as he says, though you do it anyway. It's been a while since anyone saw you naked, but the way he's kissing you makes you feel like everything will be alright. He kisses a slow line along your jaw, down your neck, tracing his tongue across the bruise left from his bite. 

"You can tell me to stop whenever you want," he reminds you, breath hot against your skin. 

"Don't you fucking dare," you manage to get out. He chuckles against your skin, kissing down your torso, lips finding their target. He loves the surprised little moan you make as he sucks lightly on your nipples, alternating between them every few moments. Your fingers curl into his hair; you can feel him smirking against your skin. 

Keeping himself propped up with one hand, the other wanders tormentingly slowly between your legs, fingers skimming your inner thighs, tracing little patterns until you're practically squirming beneath him. A single finger circles your soaking wetness and he starts to laugh again, the ache between his legs suddenly becoming more and more painful by the second. 

"Fuck," his face is back under your chin, kissing softly at your throat, "all this for me?" 

You kiss his temple, the only part of him you can reach, your hand reaching to cover his, guide his fingers inside you. A soft moan of desire leaves his throat at the gesture; slowly he curls his finger inside you, working it slowly until he can add a second. Your hand reaches down between you, finds his cock. Almost hesitantly, you stroke his length. It's been a while, and you're a little worried you're less experienced than him. The low growl he makes at the touch informs you that you're doing well so far. 

You're fast becoming almost overwhelmed; he certainly knows what the hell he's doing with his fingers, combined with the lazy, hungry kisses, you'd be quite content if the universe imploded right then and there. 

Your hand is smaller than his own, less calluses from years of weapon mastery. It makes a goddamn nice change, to feel a hand so soft stroking him, thumb brushing the over sensitive head of his aching cock. He moans, curses softly under his breath at the sight of you, your heavy lidded eyes and ragged breathing from his own handiwork. 

"Go on, sweetheart," he manages to breathe out, "you can come for me." 

Oh god. That's just what you needed. That soft, accented pet name is what sends you over the edge, your eyes rolling back slightly as you do, your wetness coating his already slick fingers. 

"Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?" 

"N-no," you choke out, still trembling, "I need-" 

"Yes?" He knows, oh god does he know, exactly what he's doing to you. 

"Inside me," you beg, "please..." 

He can't help but smirk a little at the sight of you, so young and beautiful, begging him to fuck you. Well, he's nothing but a gentleman, and you ARE asking so very nicely...

"Alright," he agrees, presses a kiss to your forehead, "we'll start slow. I don't want to hurt you." 

Somewhere in your daze, you trade places, end up straddling him. 

"Easy now, sweetheart, take it slow." He positions himself at your entrance, lets you take your time sinking down onto him. It's been a while, and you're grateful for his patience. He's not huge, but anything is a slight adjustment after a while. 

"Easy," he reminds you when you wince, fully settled on him. You take a few breaths, wait for your body to adjust. The pain is over as quickly as it started, giving way to a dull ache of pleasure as you start to ride him slowly. His hands settle on your hips, guiding you into a rhythm. You're so warm and tight around him, he's honestly worried for a moment that he might come at any second. Thankfully, that doesn't occur, and the room is silent but for the soft sounds of your bodies moving together, your ragged breath, low curses from him. 

Once he's certain you won't be hurt, he holds you steady, rolls so you're the one lying on your back. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. You moan as he hits the sweet spot you couldn't quite get, being on top. 

"You alright, sweetheart?" He's a little out of breath himself, using every ounce of self restraint he possesses to not just start pounding into you, desperately curious to see what you'd sound like screaming. 

You nod, run your nails down his chest again. He curses.

"Fuck, you make me want to break you." 

"I won't break." You retort, "they make us tough on Promethea." 

He snorts. "You just tell me if-" 

"Shut up," you tell him, dragging him into another kiss. Without breaking the kiss, he shifts one of your legs higher, hooked up over his arm. You moan against his mouth at the sudden depth. Burying his face in your shoulder, his pace quickens, harder and faster, the room filling with obscene sounds and your increasingly loud moans. 

He slams into you at a particular angle, hitting your sweet spot again. You moan his name, your nails digging into his shoulders. He manages a dark chuckle between labored breaths and groans. 

"That's right, sweetheart," he brushes your hair from your eyes. "Say my name for me." 

You oblige him, nails digging into him hard enough to leave marks. 

"Zane I'm going to-" 

"That's alright sweetheart. You come for me." He strokes your face, a low growl tearing from his throat at the sudden tightness, the extra slickness of you as your entire body trembles against him. He's pretty satisfied with managing to get you off twice, thankfully, because honest to god he's not sure he can last much longer. Months of only having his own hand for company, and he's surprised he's managed to last this long. 

He's old enough, smart enough, to know that finishing inside you is a stupid idea, no matter how tempting it may be. He kisses you once more, pace becoming more erratic before he pulls out of you, stroking himself once, twice before he spills his release onto your stomach. 

"Fuck," he groans it out, turning the word into a long, drawn out moan. By the time he's caught his breath and considered you might want some sort of cleaning item, he finds that you've already retrieved a handkerchief from the pocket of your pants, cleaned yourself, and settled back down beside him. 

"Thank you," you say, "for saving me." 

He snorts. "Didn't do it for this." 

"I know," you find yourself playing with his hair again, "I just... Don't remember if I ever said thank you." 

"Pretty sure you just did." He pulls a face at you. 

You swat at his arm playfully, giggling. 

"Stay?" He surprises himself with the word falling from his mouth. Maybe it's the liquor. Maybe it's the way you fit perfectly under his chin, your body molded to his. Maybe he's just fucking lonely. 

"Not going anywhere." You twine your leg over his, "I'm right here." 

You're equally exhausted. Equally in need for some intimacy. You're not sure what tomorrow will bring for your relationship, if anything, but right now you're content to just lie there in his arms, without a care in the world.


End file.
